


To U

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Domestic Fluff, First Time, M/M, Mute Castiel, Oral Sex, Teacher Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 00:06:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15012356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Dean gets hung up on a guy that dances alone at the club.He also decides to hang up his playboy attitude for the guy that dances alone at the club.There's so much to be said without words.





	To U

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a pwp but i guess i just fucking hate myself

Dance clubs aren’t usually Dean’s scene. Yes, he likes music. Sure, he likes dancing. But combining them together in a dark establishment with flashing lights, squealing girls, and people with no boundaries or sense of ‘personal space’ - well, Dean won’t say it’s a personal Hell, but it’s probably in the top 3 of Places Dean Won’t Visit Unless He’s Dragged To. As it is, Dean’s best friend Charlie is determined to get them both out of the “romantic funk” they’ve been unwillingly thrust into (and, ok, Dean hasn’t gotten laid in a really long time, but it’s not like it’s _affecting_ him, alright?), so Dean decided to take one for the proverbial team and accompany Charlie and a few other their other friends to the local gay bar. Dean’s not really expecting much, except of course to get drunk in a dark corner away from all the commotion, so he’s totally alright to let Charlie and Kevin and whoever else managed to meet up with them go off and have a good time while he keeps an eye on things from the sidelines. That includes making sure that he scares off any creeps that might try to grind up on his friends, but so far so good - the crowd tonight doesn’t seem to be too lecherous. 

“Are you ever going to dance?” Charlie’s voice comes into Dean’s ear, the redhead on her tiptoes and yelling so Dean can hear her. 

He leans down a little to yell back, “Nah.” 

Charlie rolls her eyes, pulling back with a huge grin. “There’s some really hot asses out there tonight!”

“Enjoy them all,” Dean says with a sweeping gesture, careful not to spill his whiskey he’s holding in the same hand. 

Charlie pats Dean’s cheek, maybe a little condescendingly, but she leaves him alone so she can disappear into the crowd on the dance floor again. 

Dean’s trying his best not to be a spoilsport, but _come on_. He’s been solid in his bisexuality for about three years now but gay bars have never really been his scene. As comfortable as he is in his sexuality, places like this are still a little overwhelming to him. His ‘type’ doesn’t seem to frequent places like this. And trust, Dean can appreciate a queen or a twink on any day, but when it comes to trying to find someone to have a little fun with, he likes a little more… meat, and a little less glitter. 

His eyes find Charlie and Kevin in the crowd, and a longer look reveals Ash with them as well. Dean snorts into his drink; watching Ash ‘dance’ is… a treat. There are a few stray gazes in the crowd looking over at his gangly, flailing limbs and the way he rocks his mullet to the beat, and Dean can’t help but appreciate the way the guy goes into situation without giving a single shit about what anyone else might think about him. 

His gaze continues, and he catches sight of a guy dancing a few feet away from Charlie and co. 

Now, the stereotypical, cliché thing to say would be: the music dims in the background, the lights shine a little brighter, and the crowd parts to give Dean a clear view of the vision dancing by himself on the floor, a glass of what looks like bourbon gripped in his hand. He’s moving along to the beat easily enough, with enough grace to show he can hold a beat, but casual enough that no one could be fooled into thinking he’s any sort of spectacular. Dean’s eyes drink up the sight - a black v-neck hugs broad shoulders and a tapered waist, acid wash denim jeans hanging low on sharp hips and thick thighs. The guy’s eyes are closed as he seems to absorb the music within his body, wrapped up in his own world and not paying attention to a single thing around him. 

Dean knocks back his whiskey and sets the empty glass on the ledge he’d been standing by. Suddenly inspired to dance, he makes his way through the crowd, trying not to make it look like he’s making a straight line to the guy dancing by himself. Instead, he keeps glancing around him, trying to see if he’s truly alone, or if maybe his friends are nearby and disengaged. But no one else is really giving the guy a second glance - unless they bump into him, in which case friendly smiles and dismissive hand gestures are made. Dean makes a detour and joins Charlie and the others, sliding into their little circle amongst their happy cheers. The music playing at this club is easy to bop along to, even if it’s not Dean’s first choice of listening material, but he appreciates it for what it is and what it’s meant to do. 

Even while bumping along with the others, Dean angles himself so he can see the lone guy over Kevin’s shoulder. Still alone, still dancing without a care, Dean watches as the guy’s hips move, his shoulders bounce, that drink still clasped firmly in his fingers, looking only a little emptier than before. Here for the moment, not for the booze. Dean can appreciate that. And he’s a little unsure as to why he’s so drawn to the guy in the first place, but now that he’s a little closer, he can see tanned skin and stubble and hard nipples and oh. Yes. This man is incredibly different than the crowd Dean associates with the gay bars. 

Kinda like himself.

“Go dance with him!” Charlie’s voice in his ear brings him back to reality and he looks over at her in surprise, guilty as charged.

“He’s alone,” Dean yells back, “I don’t wanna be a creep. He looks into being by himself.”

“Maybe he’s into it because no one worthwhile has come close,” Charlie says with her usual confident grin, slapping Dean helpfully on the shoulder.

Always good for an ego boost, that Charlie Bradbury. 

Dean nods, but he’s still unsure. He really _doesn’t_ want to come off as a creep; he knows how hard it is to be in a place like this, even surrounded by friends. It’s like some unwritten rule that at least one weirdo with no cognizant idea of respect or physical boundaries has to encroach on someone’s fun. Dean is 100% positive he’s not that guy at all, but no one else knows that. 

He feels Charlie’s small hands on his back, nudging him in the direction of the guy. Taking her lead, Dean allows himself to dance with his friends and the crowd, and does his best to not overthink anything. The flow of the music and the people surrounding him move naturally, the crowd in symbiosis of the beat and the lights flashing, and before Dean knows it, his feet almost step directly on the guy’s. 

Panicked, Dean whips his head up, surprised that he’d let himself get carried away like that. But the guy hadn’t seemed to notice because he’s still moving along, bringing his drink up to his lips - his beautiful, pink lips - barely losing the beat. His eyes are still closed and Dean doesn’t want to be weird and dance in front of him when he doesn’t even know he’s there, so he turns his body slightly. 

Fuck it, he can dance by himself, too. 

There are plenty of eyes on him, he feels it. Charlie had convinced him to wear a tank top and he feels like a huge douche because of it, slightly uncomfortable with his arms on display, but clearly the other patrons of the club are appreciating the wardrobe choice. Dean’s gaze keeps glancing towards the lone guy, but the lone guy is still absorbed in the music, absorbed in himself, and he looks so damn _peaceful_ in the sea of moving, sweaty bodies. 

It doesn’t last long.

Someone bumps into the guy from behind and his eyes open in surprise and lock on to Dean - and immediately Dean drowns in blue, blue, blue. Unable to tear his gaze away, Dean offers a slightly sheepish smile, gesturing with his hand behind the guy as if to apologize for the idiot that bumped into him and disturbed his peace. The guy cracks a smile and shrugs and holy shit, did the bass of the song just spike or is Dean’s heart about to break free of his ribcage? 

Now that the other is aware of Dean, he takes a half step closer. Dean mirrors it, their gazes still locked, the guy still swaying to the beat and holding his drink out slightly to the side. Amazing that he can dance with it in hand; Dean would have spilled everything by now, but this guy seems to have a sixth sense about where his glass is in relation not only to himself but the people surrounding him as well. 

Something about having the guy’s attention emboldens Dean. He dances a little more surely, feels the beat a little more thoroughly, and he starts moving along with the guy, while still keeping his space. Dancing with him but not quite with him, the smile is still on the other guy’s lips and their eyes meet occasionally as they sway. Their toes barely touch and they’re a good foot and a half apart, but Dean feels the man like electricity in his veins. The lights flash and shadows play over his features and Dean feels so inexplicably drawn to him that he feels like he’ll never be able to swing out of orbit. 

The song changes and the crowd cheers and pulses and starts moving a bit more erratically; on all sides they get closed in and get forced closer together, although still not touching, and the smile on the guy’s face is sated and pleased and he is still welcoming Dean without question. He lifts his drink to his lips and knocks the rest of it back and Dean’s not really sure what prompts him to do it, but he takes the empty glass from the guy’s hand and moves in beat with the song to take a few side steps so he can dispose of the glass onto the nearby ledge. When he returns the guy smiles a bit wider, lifts his hand to his lips, and makes a gesture almost like blowing a kiss while mouthing the words ‘thank you’. 

God, those are beautiful hands. Beautiful mouth. His teeth. Fuck. 

Dean just sends him a smile in return, a silent you’re welcome, and moves a fraction closer. Still not touching, though their feet are closer, enough to where if Dean _did_ choose to get closer, their knees would slot. Still respectful and counting his lucky stars that this guy is even paying attention to him at all, Dean once again starts to feel the beat, following the man’s lead. He just looks so at home, looks like a fucking angel in a swathe of demons, head tilted back slightly like the strobe lights are flashes of a warm afternoon sun. 

On the next song change the guy’s eyes open and lock on Dean’s again, and he reaches out a hand. Unthinking, only able to react when pinned by those baby blues, Dean meets him halfway and there’s strength in the man’s grip as he pulls him closer. That electric current crackling in the air around them shoots lightning through Dean, heat flashing from skull to toes. The guy pulls Dean closer, but not so close it’s obscene, clearly still intent on dancing. Dean’s not terribly experienced in dancing with a partner that doesn’t want his dick being pressed against him, but he’s about to fucking learn. 

Like a horse being drawn to water Dean follows the guy’s movements like he was made to do so. This close he can smell the guy’s deodorant - no cologne, just the fresh smell of deodorant and fabric softener and wow, Dean takes a big inhale because that’s probably the best thing this guy could have smelled like. Like a fresh Spring day, or maybe like cut grass and ozone and oh. The guy guides Dean’s hands to his hips but their pelvises are still at a respectable distance and he sends up a smile through his lashes and holy shit. 

Dean is so gone. 

No matter the song, they continue to dance. Normally by now Dean would have fed him some sort of line in an attempt to swoon him into the backseat of his car for a good time, but he finds his tongue tied and stuck to the roof of his mouth every time those blue eyes flash and those pink lips quirk, every time the bass thrums through his heart like cupid’s arrow.

A remarkable thing, speechless Dean Winchester.

But it feels so good to not jump the gun. This guy is apparently a professional lollygagger, too happy to switch up his movements to the subtle changes between songs, in no rush for anything. Laid back. Relaxed. It in turn relaxes Dean and forces him to take his own time, feel a little less eager about the “let's get outta here" line, and he is shocked to find himself enjoying it.

The DJ announces last call, some of the lights brightening and snapping Dean out of his trance. The guy’s smile is coy, borderline promising, and this is it, Dean is going to get his name, his number, _something_ \- and then the crowd shifts, Dean blinks, and the guy is gone. Startled, Dean whips his head around to try and catch sight of that wild dark hair and those high cheekbones; he even takes a few steps in a few different directions, but sees nothing.

The guy is gone.

And so is Dean.

“Son of a bitch.”

\--

Dean’s a bit sour the following weekend. Once again he’s accompanying his friends, but he’s feeling more put out than last weekend - well, last weekend _pre_ beautiful man - and he knows the odds of seeing the guy again.

Slim.

So he’s holed up in a booth with his third glass of whiskey, watching Charlie grind up on a pretty blonde girl near the edge of the dance floor. Always within his sight, per his request, because even if he’s not by her side he’s still ready to square up with any assholes that decide to push their luck. He knocks back his drink and then slouches against the back of the bench, resisting a sigh. He probably looks super pathetic. He’s wearing his usual flannel and jeans, not really looking to impress anyone tonight, and so far no one has approached him. Well- alright, maybe a few people have glanced his way, but the furrow of his brow and the downward tilt of his lips are a likely deterrent for any potential suitors.

Resting his elbow on the table and his cheek on his palm, Dean allows his gaze to wander out to the dance floor. He watches Charlie for a moment - she’s leaned in close to the blonde and it looks like they’re having a conversation over the music, and Dean finds himself smiling minutely. Good. Charlie will at least get lucky tonight. His gaze continues moving, and the song switches to something so catchy and upbeat Dean feels like gagging. This top 40 crap isn’t making his mood any better. What happened to the DJ from last weekend? He was awesome.

Everything last weekend was awesome.

Scrubbing his hand over his mouth, Dean stands up so he can take his empty glass back to the bar and get another. Might as well get shitfaced. Charlie drove, and if she’s going to get lucky, that means Dean gets to call an Uber later. Which is all well and good. Up at the bartop he rests his elbows on the counter and flashes a smile at the tender, setting his empty glass down and raising two fingers. The bartender lofts a brow, and Dean rolls his eyes with a bit of grin, holding up three fingers.

The bartender finishes pouring the drink for the customer he’s currently waiting on and then comes over towards where Dean is standing, wiping his hands dry before grabbing a clean glass and setting it on the counter. He drops in a single round ice cube and then grabs Dean’s preferred choice of whiskey, pouring three finger’s worth and tilting his head curiously.

“Not having any luck tonight?” he asks.

Dean shrugs a little, putting a few bills down on the counter and picking up the glass, taking a sip before answering. “Not really looking to get lucky.”

“Guy like you shouldn’t look so down,” the bartender smiles a bit wider, and now that Dean really looks at him, he’s pretty good looking. “You have the cutest smile.”

“Yeah,” Dean leans against the counter, deciding to feed into the flirtation. Can’t hurt. He’ll at least score a free drink down the line. “Tonight’s DJ is weak.”

The guy wrinkles his nose, “Yeah- there’s an event in town so he’s catering to all the tourists by playing all that mainstream stuff to draw in the crowd.”

Dean turns and glances over the club, nodding. There’s definitely a crowd. “Not really my type of music.”

The bartender snaps his fingers as if in recognition, “Lemme guess, Zepp fan?”

Chuckling, Dean tilts his head towards the other. “Am I that transparent?”

“Only lesbians wear flannel in a gay bar,” the guy says with a delicately arched brow, eyes roving over Dean’s form without a hint of shame.

“Noted,” Dean says, feeling a slight stab of embarrassment. Turned off, he raps his knuckles on the counter and gives the bartender a finger gun. “Thanks for the drink, bud. I’ll be back soon enough.”

“I count on it,” the bartender drawls, clearly not reading that Dean has lost interest. 

Turning back towards the booth he’d been sitting at, Dean glances over towards where Charlie is and feels the world slow to a halt around him. Just over Charlie’s shoulder, lost in his own world of multi-colored lights and pumping bass, is the guy from last weekend. He’s wearing a blue vneck today with black, skin-tight pants and holy shit. Holy shit he’s _here_. Dean’s shoe knocks into the ledge of his booth and he nearly falls down into the seat, cursing when his whiskey spills over the edges of his glass a little. Once his drink is secure on the table he looks back out towards the crowd, eyes zeroing in on the guy like a homing beacon. 

Eyes closed, bourbon in hand, the guy is moving along in his own little world. His head is tilted back, the line of his jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and Dean feels the inexplicable _need_ to run his mouth over the curve of his adams apple. Dean downs his drink in one swallow, lets out a bark under his breath at the burn, shakes it out of his fingers, and then stands up from the table. Charlie and her blonde date are gone, but Dean barely gives more than a cursory glance for them as he makes his way onto the floor. He’s approaching with no game plan, just knowing that he needs to be in the guy’s orbit again. This might constitute as creepy - what if the guy doesn’t even remember him? - but Dean has had enough whiskey to make him go just on this side of ‘fuck it’. 

Blue eyes open when Dean is three feet away and almost make him trip over his own damn feet. Recognition flashes in those oceanic depths and then a smile curls on the man’s lips as he turns his body towards Dean, taking a few steps to meet him halfway. Unable to say anything, because honestly his mind has blanked with the guy’s attention on him, Dean allows his hand to fall naturally on the narrow jut of the guy’s hip. The guy’s smile widens and he presses a little closer, their knees slotting, and that electric charge is back. 

All week Dean had thought he’d been hallucinating it.

They fall into step seamlessly, their bodies moving together like they’ve been carved from the same river, spun from the same cosmic dust. Dean’s got a lot more liquor in him than last time and the guy is sipping on his drink with his usual infinite patience, and Dean doesn’t wanna come off as some drunken idiot, so he takes a moment to close his eyes and gather his thoughts and breath. The song changes as he does this, and when he opens his eyes the other man’s eyes are closed, dark lashes against glittering cheekbones, and Dean’s gut divebombs to the dance floor.

How fucking gorgeous.

And dancing with _him_. 

Dean’s a little clumsier on his feet this go around but the guy doesn’t seem to mind, his free hand resting on Dean’s chest, fingers pressed gently into the swell of Dean’s pec. He brings his glass up for a drink and Dean’s eyes dip to that bobbing adams apple and he himself takes a thick, dry swallow, the lights catching on the glitter speckled throughout the faintest five o’clock shadow. 

The guy expertly maneuvers them and Dean lets him, following his lead, all so the man can dispose of his empty glass on a ledge. With both hands free now he pulls Dean closer by the rounds of his shoulders, thumbs pressing into Dean’s biceps under the flannel he’s wearing - cerulean eyes dip towards the fabric covering Dean’s arms and his brow furrows a bit, like he’s confused as to why Dean would be wearing so many clothes.

Dean deliriously wonders the same thing.

Blue eyes look up towards Dean’s, the man’s fingers starting to pluck the buttons of the flannel through the holes. It’s slow and to the beat of the song, their bodies still swaying, angelic eyes dropping to watch his fingers work. Dean watches the guy’s face - had he been wearing glitter last time? It’s not a hell of a lot, not enough to be annoying, just enough to highlight the high points of his face and make his dark hair shift pleasantly under the lights. Once his flannel is unbuttoned the guy reaches up to push the material off of Dean’s shoulders and down his arms, fingers leaving fire in their wake. Dean glances down to watch the man tie the flannel around his own waist, the accentuating line making his hips look a bit wider, a bit more feminine, but then the guy’s fingers are trailing over Dean’s biceps from the hem of his tshirt sleeve down. 

To think, he had thought he looked like a douche wearing a tank top.

Apparently this guy is into his arms.

He can work with that. 

The guy’s fingers circle around either of his wrists and draw Dean’s hands back towards his waist. Calloused palms on soft angles the guy shifts closer, their thighs brushing. Dean’s breath hitches, his body flashing hot. This is the most body contact they’ve had. The guy’s fingers trail back up Deans arms until his fingers curl around his triceps, anchoring there, thumbs in the crease of Dean’s elbows as they start rocking together. 

Dean’s already half hard. 

They’re not brushing together enough for him to get a read on the other guy, which Dean is actually pretty damn thankful for, because he already feels kinda like a creep for approaching him a second weekend in a row - even if the guy seemed pretty pleased to see him. Dean just doesn’t _do_ this. He doesn’t pick up dudes in gay bars, he doesn’t dance all over the floor of his own volition, and he doesn’t let hot dudes undress him in public. 

Or maybe he does.

Just tonight.

Just for this guy.

It doesn’t even occur to him that they haven’t exchanged a single word with one another. Other people dancing around them seem to be occupied either in conversation or physical concepts that should maybe be happening behind closed doors, but this guy? This guy is like a kitten having a catnap on the most relaxing of Spring days, eyes closed, body languid, chest moving, hips rolling. It’s a fucking paradox surrounded by drunkards and screaming girls and pulsing beats. Dean wonders what this guy does in his spare time to relax, if this is how he turns up on a Saturday night.

Those blue eyes open, and Dean’s mind vacates the premises. 

Those lips smile, and Dean’s soul migrates towards Heaven.

The song ends and much like last week, the guy gets swept away in the crowd, almost as if Dean was never dancing with him in the first place, and ok, Dean can probably blame the alcohol for the way the guy just sorta slipped away from him. Groaning to himself he doesn’t even try to follow him, staying rooted to the spot, feet planted, digging the heels of his palms into his eyeballs furiously for a few shakes before he turns and stalks off the dance floor.

Is it even worth it to think about coming back next Saturday?

Outside, Dean glances down at himself and realizes that he’s sans flannel.

The dude jacked his shirt. 

“Son of a bitch.”

\--

“I don’t want to be here,” Dean announces as soon as he slips into the booth Charlie and the blonde girl from last week are sitting in.

“Jo, this is Dean. Dean, Jo,” Charlie says in reply from across the table.

Dean offers Jo the friendliest smile he can muster, which may be a grimace. He turns dead eyes towards Charlie, “That was my favorite flannel.”

Charlie picks up her drink and sips from the straw, brows raised as she shrugs. “Shouldn’ta wore it.”

“Isn’t he like really hot though?” Jo asks, regarding Dean curiously. A wicked smile unfurls on her lips and Dean is suddenly straddling the line between deciding if he likes her, or hates her. “Got performance problems?”

“I don’t like her,” Dean says, pointing at Jo as he glares at Charlie.

“Sucks for you,” Charlie says with a serene smile.

“If he’s here, ask for it back,” Jo says simply. “Or whine about it all night. Either way, I’m not hangin’ around to listen to you complain about giving yourself blue balls.”

“Jesus, was it particularly hot in Hell this morning or are the seasons changing?” Dean asks Jo.

“I came topside for the winter,” Jo says with that same wicked smile, a twinkle in her eye.

Dean swivels his wrist so his finger points at Charlie, “I like her.”

“Down boy,” Charlie slaps Dean’s hand away.

“Have you seen him?” Dean asks, glancing out towards the mass of bodies swaying on the floor. 

“Not yet,” Charlie says. “He’s like a ninja. I never see him come and I never see him leave.”

“Awesome,” Dean says.

“Want a drink?” Jo asks, regarding Dean with curiosity. “You look like you could use some liquid courage.”

“I just,” Dean clenches his fists on the table. He opens his left palm, and then puts his right index finger in the center of it. “He’s so fucking _hot_.”

“So get his number,” Jo says while Charlie flags down a waitress.

“I don’t even know his name.” Dean digs his finger into his palm, glaring hotly down where his skin is connecting.

“So get his name,” Jo rolls his eyes as the waitress approaches. “Are you a virgin?”

Dean puts his elbows on the table and then slides all ten of his fingers through his hair. “Jesus Mary and Joseph.”

“Hey-” Charlie reaches out and knocks his wrist, causing his head to fall without the support. Her hand flails wildly, fingers slapping against the side of Dean’s head, “There he is!”

He turns to look at the dance floor and Charlie’s finger gets him right in the ear canal but he pays no mind. The stars align, the lights fade, the music softens, and there’s the man of his dreams swaying on the dance floor… wearing Dean’s flannel. It’s unbuttoned, hanging off of him a little, baggy in the shoulders and long in the sleeves. He’s wearing a black v-neck underneath, the material stretched taut over his torso, and his acid wash jeans are so distressed peeks of skin show through where it looks like a cheese grater went over his thighs. 

“Fuck,” Dean breathes.

“Woah,” Jo follows their gaze once the waitress leaves. “That’s him?” She grins at Dean. “And that’s your shirt?” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean looks at Charlie helplessly. “What do I do? Do I ask for it back? Do I let him keep it? Should I go dance with him?”

“Considering that he’s literally ignoring anyone who’s approaching him,” Charlie observes, still looking at the man on the dance floor, “you should probably go dance with him.”

“But what about the _shirt_ Charlie!” Dean reaches out and grabs her wrists, desperate. 

She jostles a little in surprise and sends Dean a quizzical look, before a salacious smile overtakes her features. “You could always get him alone and just… take it off for him~”

Dean stares at Charlie blankly for three seconds before letting go of her wrists and standing up from the booth. “You are absolutely right.”

Charlie laughs in disbelief and reaches out to try and grab Dean’s hand, “I was kidding! Don’t maul him!” 

Dean pulls his hand out of Charlie’s grip and walks purposefully towards the dance floor. The song changes and bass thrums through his body, electrifying his fingers, vibrating his toes, and he walks up towards the stranger with absolute determination. Once he’s within arm’s reach his hand extends, fingers ghosting up the length of the sleeve covering the man’s arm - blue eyes open, pink lips curl, and the man reaches up to grab Dean by the back of his neck, drawing him into orbit as their chests press together, knees slot, and hips sway. Immediately Dean is caught in a trance, moving sinuously with the man, feeling powerful knowing that this guy has been blowing off literally everyone _but_ Dean, like he’d been waiting for him, expecting him. 

Dean’s hands slide over the man’s waist under the flannel but on top of his undershirt, and this close he could count the flecks of glitter on the man’s cheekbones if he really wanted to dedicate the time to that. Blue eyes dark, head tipped back a little, lips parted, the man looks utterly… _inviting_ , and like a moth drawn to the flame Dean leans in a little, their noses brushing, eye contact steady, breath mingling. The guy smells like Malibu and pineapple and expensive shampoo and they’re like that for a few moments, almost kissing but not quite; the man’s hands are still on Dean’s neck, Dean’s hands are still on his narrow waist. Dean’s gaze turns searching, his head tilts slightly - and it’s the guy that closes the distance between them, pressing their mouths together. The music vibrating their bodies tingles their lips upon contact and immediately Dean sweeps his tongue along the seam of the guy’s lips, and as soon as he’s granted access he _tastes_ Malibu and pineapple. Fingers slide from his neck up into his hair as the guy guides the kiss and changes the angle, his tongue sliding along Dean’s, and it’s a pretty filthy, sloppy kiss to be honest, but it feels _good_ and tastes good and wow he’s actually kissing a stranger in a club. A first time for everything, he supposes. 

Their lips part for breath and Dean swallows, uncaring that it’s a mixture of their saliva. He pants out and their eyes meet again, blue eyes blown with a little bit of surprise, and Dean’s hands slide from the guy’s waist to his ass, gripping tight and grinding him forward against him. The guy pants softly, and then his hands rest on Dean’s chest, pushing him slightly - not pushing him away, but gathering a little bit of space to get Dean’s eyes to lift back up to his face instead of where they’ve been glued to kiss-swollen lips. 

“You ok?” Dean asks. 

The guy’s eyes are on his mouth and he nods, but his smile turns almost shy as he allows his fingers to crawl up Dean’s neck and rest on his jaw, palms on his throat. 

“Wanna get some air?” Dean suggests.

The man’s brows knit in confusion. He probably couldn’t ear over the loud music.

“Outside?” Dean tries again, throwing his thumb over his shoulder.

Realization flashes in the man’s eyes and he nods, sending Dean a grateful smile. Dean allows one of his hands to grasp the guy’s wrist, guiding him through the crowd until they reach the door that leads out to the patio. It’s not packed, but there’s cigarette smoke lingering in the air, so Dean leads them to the far corner that’s nearly empty save for a couple having what looks like an argument at a table. Leaning against the railing Dean lets go of the guy’s hand and scrubs his palm over his mouth, sending him an amused smile. 

“I’m Dean,” he introduces himself, and feels kind of stupid about it. 

The guy’s eyes are on his mouth, and for a moment, he doesn’t reply. He chews his lower lip, his brows furrow slightly, and then he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. A little insulted that the guy is checking his phone now of all times, Dean blinks a few times, gaze wandering of the guy’s face to try and gauge the situation. Just when he’s about to suggest he fuck himself off, the guy holds out his phone towards Dean. The notepad app is open and there are words on it, which Dean reads with increasing intrigue. 

**Dean? My name is Castiel. I am mute.**

“Oh,” Dean says dumbly. He thinks about the little hand gestures the guy - Castiel - has made during their previous encounters, and his slow ass brain connects the dots to sign language. “ _Oh_.” He laughs a little, and then uses his thumb and ring finger to smooth out his brows. 

Castiel brings his phone back towards himself so he can type some more. **I hope it doesn’t bother you.** He looks a little nervous while Dean reads the text, and Dean offers him a reassuring smile.

“It’s ok. I uh, don’t know any sign language though…” 

Castiel waves a hand. **I don’t expect you to. I can read lips well and type quickly.**

Dean chuckles a little. It’s an unexpected turn of events, and he’s a little unsure about the situation - just how well will they actually be able to communicate with one another? “This is gonna be a dumb question but- can you hear?” 

Castiel chews his lip as he replies. **Things are a little muffled, but I can hear for the most part as long as there aren’t any other loud noises happening.**

Nodding, Dean licks his lips, weighing the situation. This guy is _gorgeous_ , and he’s nice, and he’s playful and Dean really, really wants to get to know him better. But does the guy want to pursue anything with Dean? Dean speaks like crap, surely the guy won’t be able to understand him perfectly all the time. His thoughts get interrupted when the phone gets shoved under his nose. 

**I understand if perhaps you don’t want to, but I would really like to go out with you sometime.**

Brows rising in surprise, Dean looks up at Castiel, who is sending him an easy smile. Laughing a little at the fact they both are experiencing insecurities, Dean nods. “Y’know, I would really like that.” He reaches out and pinches the sleeve of the flannel, “You ever gonna give this back to me?” 

Castiel just smiles wider, shaking his head. 

“Fair enough.” Dean laughs. He holds his hand out towards Castiel’s phone in question, and is satisfied when the man hands it over to him. He programs his number into Castiel’s contact list, sends himself a text, and then hands the phone back.

Castiel nods in understanding, pulling up the notepad app again. **Are you free Thursday afternoon?**

Dean pulls out his own phone, swiping away the text from Castiel’s number so he can pull up his calendar. He sends Castiel a smile. “Yes.”

Castiel’s fingers are quick. **Do you know where The Wake Up Call is?**

Dean sends him an amused smile when he glances up. “A coffee date?”

Castiel rolls his eyes a little. **I have to make sure you’re worth a steak dinner before I actually take you out for one.**

Dean laughs, shaking his head. 

**Besides, their brunch menu is delicious.**

Dean wrinkles his nose slightly. “Brunch is for college girls and guys who do yoga.”

Castiel sends him a dead look. **I do yoga.**

Dean waggles his brows. “Bendy?” 

Castiel’s smile is wry. **Bendy.**

Licking his lips, Dean reaches out to hook a finger in Castiel’s belt loop, pulling him closer. Castiel obliges by taking a step towards him, fitting snug right up against Dean like he was made to be there, that playful smile on his lips reaching his pretty blue eyes.

“You’re probably gonna make me take you out a few times before I get to second base, huh?” Dean asks. This close Castiel can’t read his lips, but hopefully he’s close enough for Castiel to hear him properly. 

He knows the message gets across when Castiel lets out a huff of a laugh, his shoulders shrugging in a ‘maybe, maybe not’ gesture. Dean grins wide and presses a soft kiss to Castiel’s lips, enjoying the way the man melts against him. 

“There you are!” Charlie’s voice disrupts the moment as her and Jo weave through the crowd to reach them. “I thought you left.”

“Maybe I was thinking about it and you just interrupted,” Dean snips, but not with too much heat. 

Castiel turns to regard Charlie and Jo, his head tilting adorably in slight confusion.

“Oh- guys, this is Cas. He’s... mute.” Is that rude? He needs the girls to know in case they do something that doesn’t allow Castiel to understand what they’re saying. He doesn’t want the guy at a disadvantage. “Introduce yourselves,” Dean says, waving a hand between them all.

“Wow!” Charlie grins, stepping a bit closer and holding out her hand. “I’m Charlie! Nice to meet you. That flannel looks a lot better on you than Dean.”

Castiel smile is warm and humbled as he shakes Charlie’s hand, his free hand coming up for the ‘thank you’ gesture. 

Jo reaches out next and introduces herself, and then the four of them all take a moment to stare at one another with stupid smiles on all of their faces. Dean hops a little on his feet, and then tugs on the elbow of Castiel’s shirt sleeve to get his attention. 

“We’re probably gonna go. Do you have a ride home?” 

Castiel’s eyes flick from Dean’s down to his lips and back up again, before he nods. Smiling, Dean reaches to gently tap his index finger on the screen of Castiel’s phone.

“Thursday.”

Castiel nods, mouthing _Thursday_. 

A second of hesitation, and then Dean leans in to press a kiss to Castiel’s cheek, delighting in the shy smile he gets in return. He waves as he, Charlie and Jo depart, and once they’re out of the noise and commotion of the club and out on the street walking towards Dean’s car, Charlie immediately swoons.

“He’s so good looking! And _mysterious_!”

“He’s not mysterious,” Dean rolls his eyes. “He just can’t talk.”

“Which is mysterious!” Charlie argues as they all pile into his car. “So many things left unsaid.”

“He types quickly,” Dean replies as he starts the engine.

Charlie reaches out and paddles his bicep with both of her hands. “And you’re gonna see him on Thursday!! A date! Dean Winchester has a date!”

“Why are you acting like this is such a big deal? I go on dates all the time.”

“Not since McDreamy danced with you three weeks ago~” Charlie points out.

Rolling his eyes again, Dean pulls away from the curb to start heading towards Charlie’s apartment. “So what? Maybe I’ve been busy.”

“You’re never too busy for a date,” Charlie laughs. “Are you kidding me? Your thirst is never quenched.” She leers. “Looks like Cas can be your Sprite~”

“A) That’s a weird metaphor. And B), after talking with him tonight I’m not exactly antsy to jump into bed with him.”

“Is it because he’s mute?” Jo pipes up.

“What?” Dean looks properly offended as he glances at the blonde in his rear view mirror. “Fuck no. He basically told me he’s not easy.”

“And you’re ok with that?” Charlie presses. “It’s not like you have a ‘don’t fuck on the first date’ rule or anything.”

“Maybe I’m implementing it for Cas,” Dean shrugs. “I mean- sure, he’s fucking hot as hell. No arguing that. But- I dunno. Something about him, Charles. I wanna get to know him.”

A silence fills the car, and Dean hates how implicit his words had sounded. They’re true - 100%, he wants to get to know Castiel. But he also knows it implies that he’s throwing away his playboy bachelor image so he can go on a _brunch date_ with someone. 

“To be clear,” Dean says, deliberate. “I wanna have sex with him. I just uh- wanna go at his pace. He seemed really… self-conscious about being mute. An’ I wanna respect his boundaries.”

“Dean,” Charlie says, voice serious. He chances a glance at her. “You know you’re a really good guy, right?” 

Dean blusters a little, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. “Nah.”

“No, Dean,” Charlie insists, “you _are_ an amazing guy. Who happens to also like sex. No one is gonna hold that against you, you know?”

Dean resolutely stares at the road. “I know.”

“ _Do_ you?” Charlie needles.

“Yes, Charlie,” Dean snips, scrubbing his mouth with his hand. “Will you shut up now?”

He can feel the radiant bursts of Charlie’s sunshine smile even though he’s not looking at her. “My lips are sealed.” She pauses. “Until after your date, in which case I’m gonna be all up in your grill about how it went.”

“Awesome.”

\--

 **Dean:** just making sure u got home ok

 **Cas:** How gentlemanly. Thank you, I got home fine. I assume you did, as well, unless ghosts can text from the afterlife.

 **Dean:** no ghost here lol  
**Dean:** why are u up so early?

 **Cas:** I don’t sleep much. Why are YOU up so early?

 **Dean:** sundays are “me” time and they start with a plate full of bacon. bacon is best enjoyed before 9am 

**Cas:** I must agree. Do you live alone? Or do you enjoy your bacon with company?

 **Dean:** it’s me n my brother. but he’s too ~healthy~ for bacon so unfortunately i dine alone

 **Cas:** That’s a pity. Does he know what he’s missing out on?

 **Dean:** he says all he’s “missing out on” is clogged arteries and dying before 40. which is stupid, i’m healthy as a horse

 **Cas:** I think you look good for having an addiction to bacon. But as they say, it’s what on the inside that counts. 

**Dean:** if my insides are bacon then i want my dead body donated to science

 **Cas:** Did you just admit bacon is going to kill you?

 **Dean:** shit  
**Dean:** don’t tell my idiot brother

\--

 **Dean:** what do u do for a living?

 **Cas:** Do my best to not correct your atrocious texting habits.  
**Cas:** And edit online journalism articles.

 **Dean:** har har. what site?

 **Cas:** The New York Times.

 **Dean:** holy shit. they need editors?

 **Cas:** Everyone needs editors. Including you.

 **Dean:** u gonna come fix all my spelling and grammar mistakes? :p

 **Cas:** Thankfully your spelling is fine, but you could stand to spell out all of your words and maybe use proper punctuation.

 **Dean:** nah i’m good

 **Cas:** And what do you do for work? Hopefully nothing literary.

 **Dean:** damn ur cold  
**Dean:** i’m a PE teacher at the high school  
**Dean:** … cas?

 **Cas:** I’m sorry, I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. Are you serious?

 **Dean:** ya :(

 **Cas:** That’s… very endearing, actually. Is that what you wanted to be when you grew up?

 **Dean:** absolutely lol. i love it. PE was my favorite subject in school and my teacher was awesome

 **Cas:** What’s your favorite sport?

 **Dean:** baseball

 **Cas:** How dreadful.

 **Dean:** what’s YOUR favorite sport, nerd?

 **Cas:** *gasp!* He CAN type out a full word!

 **Dean:** gettin real sick of ur shit

 **Cas:** I like soccer. It’s worldly.

 **Dean:** how pretentious

 **Cas:** Do you wear a baseball jersey when you play? With… the pants?

 **Dean:** if ur asking bout how good my ass looks wearing baseball duds, the answer is “perfect”

 **Cas:** Ah, yes. That’s exactly the information I was fishing for. Thank you for the visual.

 **Dean:** next time i’ll take a pic for u  
**Dean:** but i wanna see u all editory in return

 **Cas:** I think I can manage that.

\--

The next day is, amazingly, baseball day at the school, and Dean puts on the full jersey with a grin. It fits him like a glove everywhere it counts, and in his office with the door shut and locked and the blinds drawn he stands in front of the full length mirror on the back of his door, opening his camera app. He stands at a three-quarter turn, hip popped to show off the curve of his ass in ‘the pants’, his arm bent holding his phone to catch the flex of his biceps that he clearly remembers Castiel fondling without shame. The picture is actually pretty good, even though it’s the same pose a lot of teen girls use on instagram, and he makes sure to crop it so the general mess of his office (sports equipment, jerseys) isn’t in view before he sends it off to Castiel.

He goes off to play outside with the kids for the eighty minute period, forgetting about the nervous flutters in his tummy from sending the photo as he hits grounders for the kids to practice running up to. By the end of the period he’s sweating and satisfied with the improvement of the kids; they’ll be ready for the senior vs freshman game in no time. Inside he bids the kids a good day and then moves into his office, leaving the door open for some fresh air flow as he grabs a clean towel and starts mopping himself up. Draping the towel around his neck he sits down in his rolly chair and picks up his phone, excitement dancing in his chest when he sees an unopened picture message from Castiel.

He taps on it, and then feels his throat go dry.

Castiel had been beautiful on the dance floor, with multi-colored lights reflecting off of the glitter on his tan skin and sex-hair. He’d been especially sexy wearing Dean’s flannel, and his smirk was to die for, and his _eyes_ \--

But the photo he’s sent Dean punches all the oxygen out of his lungs.

The first thing Dean notices are the thick, black-rimmed glasses Castiel has perched on his perfect, straight nose. The second thing he notices is that Castiel’s normally wild hair is tamed, coiffed neatly. The third thing: he’s wearing Dean’s flannel. He’s got the smallest smile curled on his lips and 5 o’clock shadow and holy hell, he’s _smoking_ hot. His laptop is open in the background and there’s a notepad next to it with the page filled with scribbles and wow.

Wow.

 **Dean:** wow

 **Cas:** I’m feeling a similar emotion.

 **Dean:** are u real?  
**Dean:** i’m starting to think i’ve been having a fever dream all month  
**Dean:** am i dead? is this heaven

 **Cas:** Charming.

 **Dean:** tell charlie i love her  
**Dean:** and that i know she stole my mario kart

 **Cas:** You are ridiculous.

 **Dean:** you like it :)

 **Cas:** I’m still unsure as to why, but I suppose it has something to do with the way your ass looks in those pants.

 **Dean:** u liked me b4 u saw me in those pants

 **Cas:** That’s very true. Your smile is actually what initially drew me to you.

 **Dean:** aw, makin me blush over here

 **Cas:** I highly doubt you have enough shame to blush over anything, Dean.

 **Dean:** ur totally right

\--

On Thursday Dean is thankful that PE is only scheduled for the mornings near the end of the school year. Texas heat is too unbearable during this time of year to force the kids to be outside any time after noon. He’d gone home and changed into nicer jeans and a red henley before he drove to the cafe; he’s a couple minutes early, but when he enters he sees Cas sitting on a loveseat by a window with a book in his hands. It’s the only place unoccupied that can house two people, and Dean tries not to feel giddy about being able to share a close space with Castiel. After all, they’ve already had each other’s tongues in their throats.

Approaching the couch Dean debates for a moment how to get Castiel’s attention that doesn’t involve rudely plopping down in the space next to him. So he shifts and stands just outside of Castiel’s line of sight, close enough to be intentional. It has the desired effect, Castiel glancing up and then smiling broadly at the sight of Dean. He pats the space next to him and Dean takes a seat with a grin.

“What are you reading?”

Castiel looks down at his book, using his finger as a placeholder so Dean can see the cover. _The Iliad_.

Dean arches a brow when Castiel looks back up at his mouth. “You’re readin’ that for fun?”

God, Castiel is truly gorgeous when he smiles. He nods, and then dog-ears the page before closing the book and setting it down on the coffee table in front of them. He signs something with his hands, Dean’s gaze automatically going down to watch the flow of his wrists and fingers, and he vaguely recognizes “eat”. Whatever else Castiel said goes over his head, but he gets the general idea. 

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Dean says, turning his gaze towards the back of the house where the counter is. His eyes briefly glance over the menu, or at least what he can read without squinting, and when he turns to look at Castiel he’s a little surprised to see him staring. _Duh, idiot. He has to look at you to understand what you’re saying._ Smiling, points towards the counter. “What do you want? My treat.”

Castiel’s eyes widen a fraction before he bites his lip, clearly unsure about taking Dean up on his offer.

“It’s not a date if we both pay for our own food,” Dean says, ducking his head a little so he keeps Castiel’s eyes on him.

Castiel rolls his eyes and pushes Dean’s shoulder idly, but he’s smiling. He pulls out his phone and types something before showing it to Dean. **An açai bowl, please.**

Dean squints and waits for Castiel to look up at him. “My brother’s really gonna like you.”

Castiel smiles wryly as he typos out a reply, **Already planning on introducing me to the family?**

Dean laughs. “You’re gonna meet him eventually, might as well get it out of the way sooner than later. Sometimes I feel like he lives in my pocket.”

Castiel scoots a little closer, presumably so he can hear Dean as well as read his lips. He nods and smiles, shrugging one of his shoulders lightly. **It sounds like you’re close.**

“Yeah,” Dean gets a faraway look in his eyes. “I love the moose.”

Castiel frowns and tilts his head. He gestures towards his ear, signalling that he didn’t catch what Dean had said.

“Moose,” Dean says, and then holds his hand out for Castiel’s phone. He types the word and hands the phone back, and delights in Castiel’s wide grin.

Castiel sets his phone down on his knee and raises his hands up towards his head; his thumbs rest at his temples, fingers splayed wide, and then he moves his hands outwards slowly. Dean watches the movement and finds himself chuckling - funny that the sign language for moose is so… obvious.

“Yeah,” Dean lifts his hands so he can mimic the motion, feeling his heart soar. “Moose.” 

Castiel looks all sorts of pleased as he picks up his phone. **What are you going to eat?**

“Dunno yet,” Dean says, starting to stand. “I can’t see the menu from here.”

Castiel holds his phone out to him. **Do you need glasses, old man?**

Dean reaches out to playfully tap the bridge of Castiel’s nose. “Maybe, but I don’t think I’ll look as good as you do.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes, swatting Dean’s hand away and leaning back into the sofa as he sends Dean a twinkling smile. Dean takes that as his cue to leave and he makes his way towards the counter, getting in line behind a couple of teenage girls and sliding his hands into his pockets so he can look up at the menu. Not all of it is frou-frou, thankfully; Castiel’s açai bowl looks delicious but Dean had already made fun of him for it, so he can’t get one, because he’s a stubborn ass. He decides on a breakfast Buddha bowl and only belatedly realizes that it’s just the non-vegan version of an acai bowl, which makes him chuckle to himself as he relays his order to the employee. He pays and gets two water cups, pocketing the buzzer as he makes his way to the fountain machines. Armed with two ice waters he makes his way back towards Castiel, admiring the man’s profile as he rests with his chin in his hand, elbow on the arm of the sofa as he peers out the window.

Setting the glasses down the table Dean fishes the buzzer out of his pocket and then resumes his seat next to Castiel. Castiel turns a grateful smile to him and picks up his water for a drink, eyes on Dean as if waiting to see if he’ll start talking first. Dean has a sudden sensation of being thankful for the fact he usually can’t shut up. It complements Castiel nicely.

“So,” Dean says, leaning back against the sofa. He drapes his arm along the back of it, behind Castiel’s shoulders. “Come here often?” 

Castiel snorts and sets his cup down so he can comfortably lean back against the sofa. He shakes his head, crossing an ankle over knee, regarding Dean with amused patience.

“My lucky day,” Dean says with a smile. “Do you work from home?” 

Castiel nods, picking up his phone again. **I work when there’s editing to be done, and don’t when there’s not.**

Dean raises a brow. “And that pays the bills?”

 **I live modestly.** Then, with even more amusement glimmering in his eyes, **Is discussing finances an appropriate ‘first date’ subject of conversation?**

Dean laughs, covering his mouth to stifle the sound. He drops his hand so Castiel can see, “Shit, probably not. I’m sorry if that was rude.”

**It’s actually a question I receive often. I don’t mind answering. Aside from editing I was given a large inheritance from my parent’s estate, so I live comfortably… but still modestly.**

Dean’s frowning by the time he finishes reading the words. Glancing up at Castiel he places a gentle hand on the man’s ankle, giving it a squeeze. “I’m sorry for your loss, Cas.”

Castiel shakes his head and waves off Dean’s concern before typing. **There’s nothing to be sorry about. My parents were religious bigots. While their passing was monumental, I didn’t actually grieve much. I’m only thankful that they decided to leave my anything.**

Wincing a little, Dean’s fingers give Castiel’s ankle another squeeze. “Still.”

Castiel’s smile turns a little fond. **I get along fine. My brother Gabriel lives close and checks in often.**

Chewing his lip, Dean shrugs a little and scratches the side of his nose idly with his free hand. “I’ll check in on you, too. From now on.”

Castiel raises a brow, the corner of his lip quirking upwards as if to say ‘really?’. 

Dean smiles despite himself. The buzzer on the table vibrates hard enough that it even catches Castiel’s attention, and Dean grabs it as he stands up. He moves to the front counter to drop the buzzer off into the basket and take the tray of food with a smile and a confirmation of his name, before meandering back towards the sofa. He sets the tray down on the table carefully and then takes a seat, pointedly not looking at Castiel as he picks up his fork and breaks the yolk of the egg on top of his quinoa, bacon and spinach bowl.

Castiel’s elbow nudges him and Dean glances over, watching his hands move. They’re in fists, with the first two fingers on each hand extended - he presses their tips together and then moves his hands apart, fingers wiggling a little. He repeats the motion, and then Dean sets down his fork so he can repeat the motion as well. He glances up towards Castiel, watching him mouth the word ‘bacon’ - and Dean laughs, nodding and repeating the sign language.

“Bacon,” he confirms.

Castiel seems pleased that Dean is willing to learn some words, and Dean makes a mental note to do some extensive Googling when he gets home so he can surprise Castiel the next time they see each other. As they eat in silence Dean muses about their situation and his earlier thought: he really does talk enough for both of them, and Castiel doesn’t seem to mind Dean’s inability to quiet down. Similarly, Dean doesn’t mind at all that Castiel is a silent companion. The silences between them aren’t awkward at all, and Dean is surprised at how comfortably they fit together. The start of their relationship had been mysterious and - dare he say - _steamy_ , but now that he’s actually getting to know Castiel, Dean is… refreshed, that he isn’t just a pretty face. He’s intelligent, funny, witty, and just seems like a genuinely good guy.

He even knows how to cut Dean down, which is good in his books.

They eat together and don’t converse, but they share stolen looks and glances; they’re sitting close enough that their elbows brush occasionally, Castiel being left-handed (a surprise) and Dean being right-handed. Once their food is gone and they set their empty dishes down on the table Castiel places his hands on his knees, twisting his back, the resounding _crrrrrrack_ s making Dean grimace a little. 

Castiel only chuckles noiselessly, bringing his fist up to his chest and making a small circle. His expression lets Dean know that he’s saying ‘sorry’, even if he most likely doesn’t mean it, the ass. He picks up his phone, typing quickly.

**Thank you for buying.**

Dean shakes his head. “It’s ok, Cas.”

Castiel chews his lower lip for a moment, glancing down at his phone as he types. He doesn’t look up when he shows Dean the screen, **I like that you call me Cas. I wish I could hear it properly.**

Dean’s heart squeezes a little. He leans into Castiel’s space, chest to his shoulder, lips next to his ear, and speaks at a volume that hopefully Castiel can hear and other patrons can’t. “It’s ok, Cas.”

The man sucks in a sharp inhale, whipping his head towards Dean, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Dean only offers a small smile in reply, and then gets surprised when Castiel leans in to press a soft, slightly needy kiss to his lips. Dean melts into it, closing his eyes, but it goes as quickly as it came, Castiel leaning back slightly. He looks a little dazed, and Dean feels his belly swoop pleasantly with the knowledge that _he_ caused that.

“I haven’t even walked you to your doorstep yet,” Dean says playfully.

Castiel’s still close enough to hear, and the smile that blossoms on his lips puts Spring to shame. He reaches up a hand to cup Dean’s face gently, thumb stroking over his cheekbone, and then pulls away a little bit more. One-handed, he picks up his phone. **Next time.**

Dean lofts a playful brow. “You sayin’ you want a second date?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, reaching to pick up his book from the table as he stands up. Another quick swipe of his fingers, **I hope I can get many more than two dates out of you, Dean.**

Licking his lips, Dean stands as well. He feels a stupidly nervous; he wipes his palms on the front of his pants idly, and wishes he could look away when he asks this next question, but he knows that Castiel needs to see his mouth because the hustle and bustle of the cafe has only grown steadily louder over the past hour. “Next time- do you wanna come over to my place? I’m not a gourmet chef, but I can throw together a good meal. And it’s, uh. Quieter. So you can hear me better.”

Castiel’s head tilts a little, eyes focused on Dean’s mouth so he can follow the line of words. Glancing up, he nods, clearly finding the suggestion agreeable. He taps on his phone, **Sunday evening?**

“Yeah,” Dean nods in return. “I’ll send you my address.”

Castiel pockets his phone and then draws Dean in for a hug. It’s tight, warm, and feels so stupidly amazing because Dean can’t remember the last time he’s been hugged without an ulterior motive. Being with Castiel is just simple, and easy, and of course Dean still would like to jump his bones, but the arousal is tamped down by the pure enjoyment of the man’s company.

Breaking apart, Dean finds his stupid grin reflected on Castiel’s features. Castiel waves, a bit unnecessarily, and then turns around to head out of the cafe. Alone, Dean rubs a hand over his jaw thoughtfully, and then chuckles to himself.

Fuck, he’s really gone.

\--

Dean can’t get Sam out of the house. It’s really fucking annoying, because Castiel is due to show up in an hour, and Sam is on the couch with his laptop open, hair tied up in a messy bun, fingers flying over the keyboard as he writes an essay.

“Can’t you just- go to Starbucks or something?” Dean grouses as he pulls the steaks out of the fridge to put on the counter, intending on letting them ‘rest’ until Castiel arrives. A quick text confirmed that Castiel isn’t a vegetarian, and Dean had been enthused, because he cooks a _mean_ steak. The fact that Castiel has already made a joke about a steak dinner hopefully won’t be lost.

Sam huffs, but doesn’t glance up from his computer. “On Sunday nights there’s a book club meeting and I can’t focus. This essay is due at midnight, Dean, I have to finish it.”

At thirty years old Dean knows it’s entirely immature to throw a tantrum, especially considering he’s the older brother, but he can’t help but tap his foot in annoyance as he crosses his arms tightly over his chest, hip leaned against the counter. “Finish it in your room.”

“You won’t get a wifi booster so the signal is too weak in there,” Sam says without glancing away from his screen.

Dean throws his hands up in the air. “Fine! I’ll order a damn booster tomorrow. I’ll put one in every room of the goddamn house. But Sammy, Cas is gonna be here in-” he glances at the microwave clock, “-forty-five minutes. Or less, because he seems like the type to show up early.”

Finally, Sam’s gaze moves towards Dean. “I’m not gonna hole up so you can get some ass, Dean. I live here too.” 

Dean rubs a hand over his face slowly, dragging it downwards. “He’s not- it’s not like that.”

He’s not looking at Sam, but he hears the incredulity in his voice. “It’s not ‘like that’? You’re having a guy over for dinner and you don’t intend to eat him for dessert?”

“When you say it like that I sound like a monster,” Dean grumbles, staring at the floor.

“No, I’m serious,” Sam finally puts his laptop on the coffee table, shifting on the couch so he can properly look at Dean. “This is- this is a _date_?”

“Our second one,” Dean says, trying for nonchalant as he picks at his nails.

 

“Your second-” Sam’s eyes widen. “Have you _ever_ been on a second date?”

Dean sends him a withering glare. “Yes, for your information. But not- not in a really long time. Cas is…” Dean tips his head back to stare at the track lighting on the ceiling. “He’s different.” 

Sam is quiet for a few moments, before he speaks quietly. “He must be.”

Dean nods. “He is. And he’s mute, so I- I don’t wanna overwhelm him too much. The idea was that we’d have dinner here because it’s quieter than being out in public. If the surroundings aren’t too noisy, he can sorta hear better.” 

“Mute?” Sam’s eyebrows raise up. “And partially deaf?”

Dean scratches his cheek, once again averting his gaze.

“Dean, I’m gonna say something, and it’s gonna sound really bad but I need you to know I’m not trying to offend you,” Sam says in his ‘reasonable lawyer’ voice. 

Dean groans. “Just say it.”

“You’re about to have a _second_ date, with someone who has a disability. He… He really must be special?” 

Anxiety swirls in Dean’s gut. “Jesus, Sammy. Am I really so much of an asshole people are surprised at all of this?”

“I just- Dean, you only date ‘pretty people’, with no baggage, and no strings attached. This is… This is really big. How do you communicate?”

“He can read lips,” Dean says. “He uses the notepad app on his phone. And he’s teaching me some sign language. But I uh, I watched a bunch of videos earlier today and learned a few more things to… surprise him.”

Sam suddenly stands up from the couch, crossing the distance with his long ass legs to reach Dean in .32 seconds. Within reach, Sam cups Dean’s face in his hands, forcing eye contact, keeping Dean from squirming away as he examines him from the inside out. Whatever he sees in Dean’s gaze makes him drop his hands and take a step back, wonder written all over his features.

“Holy shit.” 

Rolling his eyes, Dean pushes Sam further away from him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Sam laughs. “Ok- wow. Alright. I’m going to meet him when he gets here, but then I’ll go into my room and finish my essay on my phone. You are…” Sam laughs, disbelief threading the sound. “You are _gone_.”

Dean lifts up a finger to start really laying into Sam, but he’s interrupted by the doorbell ringing. He clenches his teeth and sends Sam one last death glare before walking past him, shoulder checking him just for good measure, and then heads to the door. Sam is just laughing in the background and Dean does his best to ignore him, opening up the door.

Castiel is waiting patiently on the doorstep, wearing a soft grey sweater and blue jeans. His hair is messy, his jaw is clean-shaven, and his smile warms as his eyes light up when they land on Dean’s.

“Hi,” Dean says, feeling a little gobsmacked at how soft and… cuddly Castiel looks. Dean’s not really a snuggler by definition, but he suddenly feels an unexplainable urge to be the little spoon and cocoon the pair of them up in ten blankets.

Castiel mouths ‘hello’ in return, and then Dean steps aside so he can enter. Castiel glances around the entryway and sees shoes on a rack; he dutifully takes his own off, placing them next to Sam’s giant boat shoes, and then straightens to look around curiously. 

Dean reaches for his hand, and Castiel automatically threads their fingers. Dean leads him through the basics - living room, bathroom, kitchen. And it’s in the kitchen where Castiel sends Sam a friendly smile, holding his hand out in greeting.

Sam grins huge, looking every bit of the stupid oaf he is, shaking Castiel’s hand warmly. “It’s so good to meet you.” He speaks a little louder, which Castiel clearly appreciates, because he shakes Sam’s hand a little more firmly. 

Dean squeezes Castiel’s other hand a bit to make him look over at him. “He’s studying for exams, so he won’t really be around.”

Castiel sends Sam a quizzical look, his head tilted. 

“I’m studying to be a lawyer,” Sam says. 

Castiel gives him a thumbs up, and then makes a motion with his hand - eat. He then points to Sam, and repeats the motion. _Are you going to eat with us?_

Sam sends Dean a glance, because they hadn’t discussed that. But Dean isn’t an asshole - he’ll feed his baby bro.

“He’ll eat with us,” Dean says when Castiel looks at him.

Castiel nods, and then his attention is caught by something else as he lets go of Dean’s hand and moves towards the fridge. Belatedly Dean remembers that there are all sorts of embarrassing photos hung with magnets and he groans, swaying a little on his feet. 

Sam claps him on the shoulder, “Well! As fun as it would be to watch him react to last year’s Halloween costume, I’m gonna go.” 

Dean shoots him a glare and Sam just laughs, going to the living room to grab his laptop before shutting himself in his bedroom. Sighing, Dean walks up behind Castiel, his own eyes trailing over all of the photos. Last year’s Halloween costume was a sexy nurse, and Dean had let Charlie make him up as a drag queen. He’d won the costume contest and looked pretty damn good, but it’s still embarrassing and not exactly something he’s comfortable sharing on a second date. But Castiel is looking at all the pictures with interest; Sam’s high school graduation photo, a photo of Dean, Sam, and their uncle Bobby holding up their catch of the day the lake. A photo of Sam and his girlfriend Jessica, a photo of Dean on his 16th birthday holding up the keys to his Baby, grinning like an idiot as he leans against her hood. 

Turning, Castiel doesn’t seem surprised that Dean is hovering right behind him. He taps his finger on the photo of Dean in drag, and then puts his thumb near his chin, fingers up, before closing his fist and making a swirling motion. He mouths the word ‘beautiful’ and Dean laughs, shaking his head. 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Castiel shrugs, pulling his phone out of his pocket. **Were you wearing panties?**

Dean’s smile is wolfish. “Would you like to find out?” 

Castiel laughs silently but he throws his head back, patting Dean on the shoulder placatingly before he steps away. He spots the steak on the counter and nods in approval with a grin that lets Dean know he gets the joke, before he taps on his phone again. **Your brother seems nice.** Castiel makes the sign for ‘moose’ again, and Dean laughs. 

“He’s a good kid.”

A nod from Castiel, and then his hands lift up so his fingers can trace over Dean’s jaw. The touch is soft, intimate, and it draws Dean naturally closer to Castiel; he thinks the man is going to kiss him, but Castiel merely scans over Dean’s face with his impossibly blue eyes, seemingly committing every feature to memory. After a moment like this Castiel pulls away and then takes a seat at the table, propping his chin up in his hand and sending Dean a playful smile. 

“Gonna make me do all the work?” Dean asks, gesturing towards the kitchen.

Castiel makes a grand gesture of his own, inclining his head in a bow. _Of course._

Cooking dinner doesn’t take long. It’s nothing too extravagant; pan-seared steak with mashed potatoes and brussel sprouts. Castiel did end up helping after all, shoving Dean away from the bowl he was mashing potatoes in - which was definitely for the best because when Dean had a taste of them, his tastebuds exploded in a way they never had before from such a simple dish. Castiel also took over the brussel sprouts, and those are delicious too; but Castiel makes a blissful expression when he takes a bite of the juicy, perfect steak Dean had cooked. 

They make a good pair. 

Complementary. 

Sam comes out to eat and is way too excited about the ‘perfect brussel sprouts’, telling Castiel that he’s more than welcome to come and cook any time. Castiel is humbled by Sam’s praise and offers to give him the recipe he used, which makes Dean huff, because he’s guarding the mashed potato recipe with his frigging life.

After dinner Sam disappears back into his room. Castiel dries the dishes as Dean washes, and he even hunts around the cupboards to put them all back in their respective places. They wind up on the couch, close enough that their knees knock, facing each other, and while conversation had been pretty casual (work, school, hobbies), Dean finds it in himself to ask a question that’s been plaguing him all week. 

“How did you become mute?” 

Castiel hesitates, a thoughtful expression his face. He doesn’t look offended, which Dean is thankful for, and he picks up his phone to start typing. It takes a bit longer than usual and Dean waits patiently, making sure their fingers brush when Castiel hands off the phone to him.

**When I was eight, I was in a car crash with my parents. I wasn’t buckled in properly, because we were ‘just going to the grocery store’. The force of the crash threw me forward against the plastic center console between the front seats. I had severe head trauma, and the damage to my neck from both whiplash and impact was nearly irreparable. The impact also caused damage to my cochlea, which affected my hearing. In the end my vocal cords and larynx ended up so bruised they had to be removed. Of all the options offered to me for recovery, my parents chose none of them. I could have had a voice box inserted, like the ones given to smokers, but my parents felt that an eight year old child would be bullied. Unfortunately, I was bullied anyway.**

Dean reads the words two times, and then twice more, absorbing all of the information. Wow. No wonder he hadn’t been bothered when his parents died. He feels a little bubble of anger inside at how reckless they had been, at how they ended up damaging Castiel for life - at how they let a _child_ go through the trauma of never being able to speak again. He looks up at Castiel, whose eyes are slightly downcast, and then Dean sets the phone down and crowds close to the man, hands reaching up to cup under his jaw as he practically crawls into the man’s lap.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” Dean says. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that. Fuck, Cas.”

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean and looks up at him, registering his words. He shakes his head a little and offers a small smile, clearly trying to communicate that it’s alright. And Dean knows it is- Castiel has adapted so well and he’s successful, so fuck his parents and their shitty decisions. 

“When we met, you said you’d understand if I didn’t want to date you because you’re mute,” Dean says, suddenly remembering that tiny snippet of conversation. “Has- has that happened before?” 

Castiel searches Dean’s expression for a moment, before he nods slowly. He doesn’t seem particularly pained by it, but still, being rejected for something that is a part of _who you are_ seems really shitty to Dean. He can’t imagine anyone passing this up - passing _Castiel_ up - just because he can’t talk. 

There’s so much that can be said without words. 

Dean kisses Castiel. 

Castiel opens up beneath him with a tremble. Dean’s tongue slides into Castiel’s mouth and it’s a deep kiss, not a filthy one, filled with so much compassion Dean needs to find an outlet before his heart explodes with it. That outlet is Castiel - his mouth, his hands. Dean’s fingers slide into Castiel’s hair and now he really does climb onto the man’s lap, knees on either side of his waist as he presses him back into the arm of the couch. Castiel returns the kiss with just as much passion, his hands clutching at Dean’s biceps, and when they break apart Dean looks into Castiel’s eyes, watching the way his pupils dilate and then retract.

“For the record,” Dean says, slightly out of breath. “I think you’re really fuckin’ awesome.”

The smile that spreads over Castiel’s features rivals the sun peeking out from rain clouds, and when he pulls Dean in for another kiss, Dean knows.

He’s so, _so_ gone.

\--

 **Cas:** Did your brother pass his exam?

 **Dean:** my day is fine hows urs

 **Cas:** Testy.

 **Dean:** ofc he passed, he’s a genius  
**Dean:** now ask me how i’m doing

 **Cas:** How are you today, Dean?

 **Dean:** lose my number asshole

 

 **Cas:** You’re very charming when you act like a five year old.

 **Dean:** so i’ve been told  
**Dean:** what is ur opinion on the marvel movies?

 **Cas:** I enjoy them. 

**Dean:** ok but which one is ur fave

 **Cas:** Thor: Ragnarok

 **Dean:** thank god  
**Dean:** if u woulda said iron man we’d have to break up

 **Cas:** I am a fan of Tony Stark but typically only when he’s a guest in other movie verses.

 **Dean:** how did u feel about dr. strange

 **Cas:** Is this another test?

 **Dean:** answer

 **Cas:** While it was visually appealing, I believe more could have been done. 

**Dean:** do u think benefactor cumbersome was a good choice for the role

 **Cas:** Although he seems a little overrated, I am a big Benerwach Cumberfuffle fan. 

**Dean:** have i told u ur perfect?

 **Cas:** Once or twice, but it’s always nice to be reminded.

 **Dean:** :)

\--

It’s been two months since Dean and Castiel started seeing each other, and about a month and a half since they’ve been ‘official’. It’s not always easy - sometimes Dean finds the errant thought of ‘I wish he could talk’ filtering through his head whenever Castiel has to type out a lengthy reply on his phone. But Dean has learned quite a bit of sign language, and he can now communicate with Castiel when they’re out in the noisy public without having to use his voice so much. Every time he signs something to Castiel he loves how the man just _lights up_ and excitedly signs in return, even though that usually results in Dean asking him to sign slower so he can actually understand what the heck he’s saying. 

School lets out and Dean is free for the summer, though he picks up odd jobs through his uncle Bobby, most of them centering around auto repair and regular maintenance work for homes. He and Castiel spend a lot of time with each other, alternating between their homes, though for the most part they end up at Castiel’s because Sam had caught them making out against the counter one day and declared himself scarred for life. Which is ridiculous, because Sam has walked in on Dean in _much_ more compromising positions, but Dean supposes the difference is that Sam and Castiel are actually friends now, too. Castiel accompanies Dean to D &D night every second Friday with Charlie (and Jo) and a few other friends, and it only takes a little bit of convincing to get him to play. 

They still haven’t slept together. In fact, they never move much past kissing, and Dean - for once in his stupid life - is totally ok with it. It’s the first time he’s garnered such an emotional attraction to someone, and he’s enjoying coasting along. Castiel fulfills him in ways that sex never has before, and while he’s still pretty sure Castiel is the hottest person he’s ever had the pleasure of making out with, he still stands by what he told Charlie months ago: he’s going to respect his boundaries.

That’s why when it comes up in conversation, Dean gets a little blindsided.

**Does it bother you that we haven’t had sex?**

Dean stares at Castiel’s phone, wide-eyed, for all of ten seconds before he looks up at Castiel’s face. His expression isn’t really giving anything away, which lets Dean know he’s guarding himself from whatever Dean’s reaction might be. So, Dean puts the phone down and shakes his head, reaching to put his hand on Castiel’s knee, shifting to get a little more comfortable on the couch. 

“Why are you asking this?”

Castiel shrugs a little, glancing off towards the side and lifting his hands to sign. _I’ve seen what some of your friends say._

Damn Castiel’s lip reading. Dean wonders which of his friends lately have talked about his sex life but can’t come up with much, even though it’s not like he’s gonna go off and yell at anyone. Shaking his head, Dean squeezes Castiel’s knee to get him to look at him. “In the past I- I was a playboy I guess. I slept around a lot. I don’t really talk about it because I’ve realized that’s not who I am.” He chooses his next words carefully. “Meeting you changed me, Cas. For the better.”

Castiel’s eyes watch Dean’s lips like he’s afraid to look away, and when Dean is finished speaking Castiel meets his gaze. He lifts his hands, _It’s really ok?_

Letting out a breath, Dean sends him an easy smile. “Yeah, Cas. I wanna respect you. If you wanna have sex, great. If you don’t, also great. But uh,” his head tilts a little, hoping his next question won’t fuck up the conversation, “why… aren’t we having sex?” 

Castiel drums his fingers on Dean’s knee a moment, before he picks up his phone. **Do you know what demisexual is?**

Realization dawns on Dean. “Oh- yeah, I do. You’re demi?”

Castiel nods. **I wasn’t sure how to tell you.**

“You’re talking about it like it’s a bad thing,” Dean says. Then, another thought dawns on him. “Oh. This is another thing that’s uh… stopped relationships before, isn’t it?”

Castiel nods again, and then sets his phone down so he can sign. _You’re different. You have also changed me for the better._

Unable to keep the smile off of his face, Dean leans forward so he can press a soft kiss to Castiel’s lips. “You’re safe with me.”

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him down onto him for cuddles. As they start to drift off for a nap, Dean realizes he’s never been this content in his life.

There’s so much to be said without words.

\--

Six months in and Dean has started a new year at school. New freshmen are always his favorite - half of them nervous about entering the lion’s lair of high school, some of them totally confident. It always makes the first few weeks of P.E. fun and he can’t help but be a little tortuous about it, yelling at them to hustle, sweat, and pick partners that aren’t their friends. He spends pretty much all of his time at Castiel’s apartment - he’s got a spare toothbrush in the bathroom and his keurig on the counter - and things are… amazing. To think that he’d met Castiel in a dance club of all places, drunk on endorphins and high on his touch, and now they’re settling into a pretty domestic life together. 

Dean isn’t exactly fluent in sign language, but Castiel is using his phone less and less to communicate. It makes Dean feel good, that he can do that for Castiel. Castiel always pouts whenever Dean signs back instead of talking - “I like the way your mouth moves when you talk”, Castiel will sign - and Dean learns that Castiel is especially fond of the way his throaty morning voice vibrates through his ear when Dean leans in for little nibbles when his alarm goes off on the weekdays. 

The lead up to The Moment is pretty tame, actually. Dean’s on the couch with the World Series on the television, beer in hand and socked feet on the coffee table. Castiel has been holed up in his office for the better part of the afternoon, victim of a deadline, so Dean has just sort of been hanging out on his own. When the office door opens he looks up to send Castiel a smile, but there’s a stormy, determined expression on the man’s face as he stalks towards Dean on the couch. Feeling his heart flip downwards into his stomach Dean barely manages to put his beer down on the coffee table before he has a lap full of Castiel, those pink lips kissing him senseless, fingers tangling in his hair. Dean’s mouth opens up for him and then Castiel’s hands are pulling at Dean’s clothes impatiently - Dean gets the memo, breaking the kiss to discard his tshirt, Castiel mirroring him, and then Castiel is suddenly not on his lap anymore, instead kneeling between Dean’s legs.

“Fuck-” Dean reaches to grab Castiel’s wrists when the man starts pulling at the fastenings of his jeans. Castiel looks up with a huff, expression impatient, and Dean blurts, “Are you gonna suck my dick?” 

The eye roll Castiel gives him is monumental. He replies by shaking off Dean’s hands and continuing his task of undoing Dean’s jeans and holy shit. Woah. He shifts a little so Castiel can get him fully naked (he even takes off his socks, which Dean thinks is kinda funny), and his cock is already half hard from the impromptu assault. Castiel’s fingers circle him and stroke him with such precision and finesse Dean almost can’t believe this is the first time Castiel is touching him. It doesn’t take long for him to reach full hardness and he leans forward a bit so he can run his fingers through Castiel’s hair, watching as his pretty mouth dips to take the head of his cock between his lips. Groaning, Dean’s toes curl against the carpet and his hips flex slightly, doing his best to keep his control. Castiel’s clearly inexperienced but he makes up for it in enthusiasm. It’s the wettest blowjob of Dean’s life but also definitely the hottest and because it’s been so long since he’s gotten his rocks off, Dean feels his orgasm creep up on him embarrassingly quick.

He tugs gently on Castiel’s hair to try and warn him. Castiel glances up at him and holds eye contact as he swallows Dean almost nearly to the base and Dean feels his vision go fuzzy as the pleasure rockets through him. His balls draw tight and he tries tugging on Castiel’s hair again, but Castiel reaches up with his free hand to grab Dean’s hand and pin it to the couch, the strength surprising and catching Dean off-guard. That tips him over the edge, the thought of Castiel manhandling him (and oh, is he good at it), and when he comes Castiel swallows it all down without complaint. 

When he comes up for air he licks his lips, breathing heavily, and Dean touches his cheeks with shaky fingers. 

“Holy shit.”

Castiel smirks, wiping his lips with the back of his hand and then climbing up onto Dean’s lap for a heated, dirty kiss. Dean tastes his release on Castiel’s tongue and hums in satisfaction, his hands sliding down Castiel’s back down cup his ass, giving a gratuitous squeeze. 

“Gonna let me return the favor?” Dean asks. 

Castiel’s smirk morphs into a playful smile, his hands coming up to sign. _I’ll pitch, you catch._

Dean laughs outright, smiling and shaking his head as he brings Castiel in for another kiss. “Fuck, I love you.”

The confession startles neither of them, as Castiel pulls away and looks at Dean with bright blue eyes. He mouths, _I love you too_ , and then taps Dean’s nose before his hands sign. _Want to play ball?_

A lot can be said without words.

But sometimes, words make all the difference.

Especially the dirty ones.

**Author's Note:**

> i did do research for this fic but if anything is incorrect of seems "off" in any way, please correct me  
> fire and brimstone is less scary than my [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)  
> love u guys xo


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